Tag: clerk catharsis

#12 Mean Lady

She comes to the store all the time, almost every day, and in her opinion, that should give her a special status around all these other not-so-regular shoppers.  It certainly should get her top-notch service, regardless of the fact that she returns half the things she buys.  Sometimes she even uses the stuff she buys before she returns it.  She knows it, and the cashier behind the returns desk knows it, but she also knows the little bitch wouldn’t dare accuse her of lying.  They’ve been through this before, and she’s perfectly willing to occupy every single manager’s time until she gets what she wants.  That is, after all, how to get exactly what you want.

Never mind wether it’s fair or not.  Nothing is fair, and besides, if any of the people working there had an ounce of dignity they’d find a different job.  No, these people were all losers, and she never minded getting one over on a loser.  It taught them a lesson.  Made sure they didn’t forget that they were the losers, and not her.

Some days she wouldn’t even buy anything.  She’d pick things up, put them in her cart, walk a few aisles over and set it down in entirely the wrong spot.  Makeup with the bleach.  underwear on the shelf with the twinkies, a six-pack of socks tucked behind the magazines right next to the cashier, almost daring her to say a thing.  But they never did.  They knew their place.  She made sure of that.

On days when someone wasn’t quite as cheerful and humble as they were supposed to be she’d be a little naughty, and do things like leave a quart of ice-cream on top of the DVDs, biting her cheek at the thought of that guy who was too busy to help her, finding it hours later, when he was finally done with that massive cart full of boxes he was trying to empty.  Since he didn’t want to do his job by dropping everything for her, well, she’d make sure he had plenty of work to do.  Life was like that, after all.  Not fair at all.

She never went out of her way to be nice to any of these losers, either.  After all, if they couldn’t find a better job than that, they must be mentally deficient and should be watched.  Carefully.  And sometimes, well, no, often, they needed to be directed.  Forcefully.  It wasn’t that she was unkind, it was that she didn’t have to be, not to these little ants scurrying around her.  She could be as mean as she liked, and they still had to kiss her ass.  She loved that.